Demons don’t leave survivors.

We turn on each other instead of turning toward the sky.

You’re nothing without your power. If you weren’t born on the solstice, no one would want you. No one would need you. No one would give a shit about their helpless Apolli.

We can’t escape our upbringing. We can’t escape the echoes of blood.

I know some people call you a monster, but more people call you a god.

We all come home together.

The war is a series of divine feuds. The gods play puppets with people. There is always someone more powerful pulling the strings.

I relive her death before I remember her life.

We wrestle grief like it’s a monster with claws when it’s really a ghost in the night.